Just Another Tricky Day
by Willow Edmond
Summary: 13 year old Roman convinces his mother to let his little brother Lance to go to the store. While taking a break, a child decides to ask Lance why he's bald.. and Roman's worried because we all know how Lance is. (Set in the "I'm Free" universe but can be read as a stand alone


_This is no social crisis  
Just another tricky day for you._

Pete Townshend

.

**Another Tricky Day**

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

"Mom, let him go with you," Roman said, surprised the words were even coming out of his mouth. "I'll tell you what, we'll _both_ go with you." _Did I just agree that Lance should go grocery shopping with Mom three days before Christmas? And did I_ really _agree to tag along?_ "If he gets tired, we'll go sit in the cafeteria area."

Jen hesitated. Lance had been released from the hospital, less than a week ago, but that was only because he was between treatments for cancer. It wasn't _gone_ yet, because the form of leukemia Lance had was clinging to him like one of those choking vines, but the hope was that it had been blasted into enough submission to give Lance a chance to recover enough to go for the next round. "There are so many _people_ out shopping," she said, stalling for time.

"Yeah, and have you noticed people avoid Lance as if _he's_ the one who's deadly when it's the other way around?" Roman asked. "Besides, Lance is right, he should get the chance to feel like a normal kid sometimes and normal six-year-old kids get dragged along on errands to the supermarket with their mothers."

"But so many germs," Jen protested, but her voice was growing more feeble by the second, realizing her middle child was right. Roman might not be brilliant, like Lance, but he was far from stupid. And he knew how to wear his mother down, especially when it came to Lance. "He's so weak."

"And he's on so many drugs," Roman pointed out. "Antibiotics, antiviral meds, it might not be perfect, but he's got a pretty good chemical immune system." When he saw his mother twisting the strap of her purse in her hand, having that mental debate, he drew the last card weapon for Lance. _If this doesn't work, Lance is hosed._ "Besides, Mom, if we all go to Publix together, you can keep an eye on him. You can't if he stays home."

It worked. Jen stopped twisting her strap and instead put it on her shoulder. "Fine. I'm going to go warm up the car, you go get him. If he's unable to get out to the car in ten minutes, then I leave without either of you."

"Thanks, Mom, you're awesome!" Roman said.

As the door closed behind her, he went to the foot of the stairs, calling up, "Hey, Lance, get your butt down here, we're going." _I'm crazy,_ he thought _I'm going to go to the grocery store with Lance. Yeah, this is exactly how I want to spend my day._ But, even as he thought it, another part of him asked if he'd rather spend today going to the cemetery and lighting candles for his _dead_ younger brother and suddenly going to the store seemed far better.

He heard Lance rise from his bed and he almost ran down the stairs. Okay, Lance didn't really run anymore, but for Lance, it was amazingly fast. He was already dressed, jeans, a SPWA t-shirt, because the kid was proud his family owned the Samoan Pride Wrestling Academy. He'd been getting ready while Roman went down to convince their mother he should go. "Thanks, Rome!" He hugged his brother when he got to the foot of the stairs. Lance was a huggy kid with his family, and Roman sometimes wondered if he hugged them all the time because he was scared it might be the last time.

"You don't have a hat on," Roman studied him. "And you're just wearing a t-shirt." Roman was wearing a black stocking cap. When Lance began losing his hair, he was so upset that Roman shaved his own to show him support. Roman didn't mind it that much, it sure made showering and drying off go fast.

Lance pulled a grey billed cap out of his back pocket. "I've got a hat," he said, putting it on. "And do I _really_ need to wear a jacket?"

"Mom is warming up the car right now," Roman said, heading into the laundry room to see if there was something that would work so he wouldn't have to run upstairs and find a jacket for him. "So, you tell me."

"Hey, Roman, how do you know if you live in Florida?" Lance called to him.

"I don't know," Roman said, finding a blue flannel shirt folded in the basket. He brought it to his brother. "How do you know if you live in Florida?"

"When your Mom warms up the car, and it's 72 outside," Lance finished as he fumbled with the shirt.

Roman laughed, but shook his head. "That's how you know that you live in Florida _and_ have a mother that is way too paranoid about her sons getting cold." He saw Lance was having a little trouble getting the shirt on, so he took it gently away from him and held it so Lance could slip his arms in easily. It was hard to remember sometimes that Lance was only six and his body was significantly weaker than most kids his age. He was so smart, it was easy to think his physical capabilities should match his mental ones.

"_Sons?"_ Lance questioned. "You mean _Son_. You know, the one with cancer. She wouldn't heat up the car for you or Marc."

"Hey, none of that," Roman helped him get his other arm into the shirt. "You made me promise we wouldn't talk about cancer today so, you get to pretend you're healthy and do normal things."

"Good point," Lance said.

When they got to the car, and Roman was helping buckle him into the back seat, Jen looked at Lance through the rear view mirror. "You don't have a jacket on," She looked at Roman, "Why are you letting him go out without a jacket on?"

"Mom, he's got a heavy flannel shirt on. Over another shirt. You've got the car warmed up, and the supermarket is going to be a hundred degrees. He'll be fine."

.

Publix was even worse than Roman thought it would be. It was packed with shoppers and hotter than any place had a right to be.

"Do you think Mom called and told them I was coming so they would turn up the heat?" Lance whispered to him, so Jen wouldn't hear.

"I wouldn't put it past her."

Despite the heat and the crowds, Lance seemed to be enjoying himself at first and Roman was grateful. He insisted they go down the seasonal aisle, even though Jen had already bought all the Christmas wrapping paper, candy, and all the other things the aisle sold.

"I couldn't get gifts," he said to Roman as their mother was looking at some bows on the other side of the isle.

"Draw us pictures," Roman suggested with a grin.

Lance stared at him, brows furrowed. "Don't start that," he said. "I'm no artist and I know kids giving pictures they've drawn is this lame way of making kids feel like they're giving gifts. Maybe Mom would get all mushy, but everyone else will just hang it up for a few days and then toss it out."

Roman tried not to laugh, but couldn't help a snort coming out. You couldn't pull one over on Lance, no matter how hard you tried. "I've got you covered, little brother," he said. "I put both our names on all the gifts I bought."

"Let me pay for half," Lance insisted. "Otherwise, it's just charity to make the sick kid feel better."

"You're welcome to chip in," Roman said. At the hospital, people who visited were always giving him cash, so he could get something from the gift cart, or to pay for TV or Internet access in his room. Lance regularly gave the money to his parents, who put it away in his college fund, but he also kept some for himself. He never bought anything off the gift cart, and internet access and TV were free.

At first Lance tried to tell people this, but they kept insisting he take it, that he finally gave up. On top of that, on his birthday or other holidays, people sent him cash. Sometimes they sent it to their parents so they could buy things they knew he would like, but other times, they sent it right to him. "Because kids with cancer are always hanging at the mall, you know?" Lance would say.

Jen was doing a lot of shopping today, not just for herself, but supplies for the camp too. About the time they were getting past the "non perishables" on her list, Lance started getting droopy. His face was flushed, and the back of his neck was dotted with sweat. Roman was surprised his mother hadn't noticed already, but maybe she was even a little more relaxed, and Roman _did_ agree to come only to watch him.

"You okay?" Roman whispered when he started falling behind his mother.

"No," Lance admitted. "I'm so hot, and thirsty. I hope I'm not running a fever."

_Fever._ A dreaded word in their house, because fevers and chemo were a deadly combination. No immune system meant a simple fever could prove to be deadly. Roman reminded himself of Lance's pharmaceutical replacement for his hurting immune system and felt a little better, but he wanted to make sure. "Mom, Lance is a little tired, and thirsty. I'm gonna take him to the cafe to get a drink."

Jen turned to look at Lance. She was still a distance and Lance had wiped his face and neck with the bottom of his flannel shirt, but he still looked a little flushed. "Are you okay? Should we leave?"

"I'm fine," Lance said, managing to even give his mother a good eye roll. "I just wanna sit for a bit and have a drink."

"All right," Jen said, nodding too. "You go do that. If there are no empty seats in the cafe area, let me know and we'll leave."

Roman noticed she didn't suggest they could sit outside, where it might be a little cooler.

.

Fortunately, the cafeteria area wasn't overly crowded. It wasn't lunchtime and most of the people in the store were more interested in getting what they needed and getting out. Roman guided Lance over to a table in the far corner, near the exit to the outdoor seating. If Lance was overheating, the next step would be to get him outside. "What do you want to drink?"

"Root beer," Lance said.

"You know Mom doesn't want you to have that stuff," Roman said. Jen didn't like any of her family eating junk food, but she was really nervous about Lance having it.

"That's why I'm telling _you_ I want root beer," Lance said. He looked up at Roman, eyes wide, "_Pleas_e, Rome," he paused to sniffle. "_Please _let me have some root beer. It's the _only_ thing I want."

"Don't try to play me for a sap," Roman advised him. "I'll make you a deal, you can have root beer if you'll let me take your temperature."

"Done!" Lance said, nodding his agreement.

"Okay, wait here," Roman said. "Do not move." He hurried off to the pharmacy section of the store as fast as he could and grabbed the first thermometer he saw, then jogged back to the cafe. Lance was still in his seat. He'd removed his hat and the flannel shirt and was looking a little better, but Roman was still glad he was buying the thermometer. _Any time I go anywhere with Lance, I'll put it in my pocket_

When he returned to the table, after paying for everything, Lance was scowling. "What's wrong?" Roman asked, putting down the huge cup of root beer and smoothie made with all sorts of healthy things like kale and collard greens. It tasted like grass, but it was a Mom approved drink for Lance. He figured if their mother came looking for them, Roman could claim the root beer was his.

"Kid over there is staring at me," Lance said, nodding over behind where Roman stood. "Like I'm some sort-of freak."

He reached for the root beer, but Roman stopped him. "Temperature first, then drink."

"Thanks, Rome, now that kid is going to think I'm even more of a freak," Lance scowled.

"Don't care, you promised," Roman said. He pulled the thermometer out of his pocket. He'd already removed the packaging. _God forgive me, I'm not wiping it off with alcohol first. Please let the place this was made clean them before they stick a cap on them_ "Open," he said.

"Gimmie that," Lance said, grabbing it from Roman's hand, and putting it in his mouth himself. He glared at Roman, and mumbled something around the thermometer that sounded like it might have been a request not to treat him like anymore of a freak than he had to.

While they waited for the thermometer to ping, Roman took off his hat and sat down sideways on the chair, so he could look over at the kid who was irritating Lance so badly. _If he's my age, I'm going to go tell him to stop staring, he should know better._ The child actually turned out to be, at least by appearance, younger than Lance, but not by much. _Four, maybe five._

The thermometer beeped and Roman reached over and took it from Lance's mouth. Lance frowned, but he knew the rule, someone had to witness what his temperature was every time it was taken. To Roman's relief it flashed at 99, well within normal range. He found himself exhaling, as he felt the weight slip from his shoulders. "99," he said.

Lance didn't answer, he was staring towards the kid. Roman turned wondering if the kid was doing something other than staring, and sure enough he was. He'd gotten up from his seat and was heading towards them. Even worse, the woman who was with the kid, probably his mother, was watching him, but not stopping him. _This could be bad,_ Roman thought.

Lance took a giant drink of root beer, his cheeks caving in around the straw. With his bald head, it made him look like a skeleton. Roman wondered if he wanted to scare the kid away, as he opened up the smoothie and took a sip. It tasted no better than the last time he'd tried one.

By now the kid was up to the table. He completely ignored Roman. He and Lance might both be bald, but in Roman's case, it was obviously a choice. The kid looked at Lance. "Are you sick?"

Roman almost cringed, waiting for some sarcastic barb to roll off Lance's tongue, as it often did. Lance was not good at remembering that kids near his age were not as smart as him, not as verbally advanced, and had little to no knowledge of cancer. Having to explain his illness was a bit of a trigger for Lance. Especially if he was feeling close to normal, which he had been today.

To Roman's shock, Lance nodded. "Yeah, I'm sick. I've got cancer." He didn't give the type of cancer, AML, he didn't roll his eyes, he just answered the question, simply and honestly.

The kid tipped his head to one side, studying Lance as if he were a display in a museum. "You take medicine, right? When you're sick, you take medicine."

"I _do_ take medicine," Lance said. "I take a _lot_ of medicine."

"Then why are you bald?" The kid looked confused. "Medicine is supposed to make you better, and it does, but your cancer medication is making you bald!"

_I give him one thing,_ Roman thought. _The kid knows something about cancer._ He was about to suggest the kid leave, come up with some excuse before Lance could say something that was true, but also sarcastic, like "because the medicine is poison, kid."

"Because cancer is a strong disease," Lance said. "So I need very strong medicine."

_I didn't expect this,_ Roman thought, _he's not being so tough._ He studied the kid to see if there was something special about him that Lance might relate to, something about him that would make him want to soften the blow. As far as Roman could see, there was nothing. This was just a kid.

"But it made your hair fall out," the kid protested. "When my mom gives me medicine, it makes me feel better."

Roman was tempted to suggest the kid might want to return to his mother, but part of him wanted to see how this played out. _If Lance gets too lippy with the kid, let his mother deal with it, she's the one who should be stopping him, but isn't._ Barely was the thought formed in his head, when he realized that maybe the kid's mom wasn't stopping it, but she_ had_ moved to a table right behind them, as if she was listening in. _Okay, Ma'm this is on you,_ Roman thought. _If you don't want your kid to get blunt honesty, you shouldn't allow him to walk up to strangers and just start talking to them._

Meanwhile, Lance had taken another gulp of root beer, and appeared to be stalling for time, another thing that surprised Roman. When it came to cancer. Lance _always_ knew the answers.

"The medicine for cancer is special," Lance finally said. "Because, again, cancer is a strong disease. It's so strong that it can kill you. So the medicine-"

"-Medicine should make you _better,"_ the kid interrupted. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his hoodie and his brows were furrowed.

"Don't interrupt me," Lance said. "Do you wanna know or not?"

The kid looked properly chastised. "I wanna know."

"Okay," Lance said. "Your body uses energy to do everything. Eating takes energy, digesting takes energy, wiggling your toes, and, growing hair. You may not feel like growing hair takes energy, but it does. Cancer medicine stops all the energy waste it can. It can't shut down things like eating, digesting, moving around, we need to do those things. But hair? We don't _need_ hair. So, what the medicine does is take that energy that I'd normally need for growing hair, and instead use it to help me get better."

Roman listened and looked at the kid to see how he was reacting to this information. The kid was silent, but nodding ever so slightly, showing that he was understanding.

"It channels all the energy not needed by me to survive and instead focuses it all on making me better." Lance took another sip of his soda and Roman noticed he was having trouble looking the kid in the eyes, even though the kid was studying him like he was giving out the wisdom of the ages. "So, my being bald means the medicine is working. It's taking all the hair growing energy and focusing it on kicking cancer's butt."

"So, being bald is a _good_ thing?" the kid asked.

Lance nodded. "Yeah, it's good."

The kid nodded and for the first time, his brows smoothed out, and Roman realized the kid had been feeling some type of weight on him, and now it was gone. He just stared at Lance as if he might be the smartest person in the world. _You're not that far off base,_ Roman thought.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned. It was the boy's mother, and she motioned for him to come closer. He worried she might be upset at what Lance had told her son, and if she was, Roman was going to tell her to stuff it. Lance could have told the truth, that chemo was poison. A poison that killed _all_ new cells hair included. But, he saw the woman's eyes were overly bright and when she blinked, a couple tears escaped. He slid out of his chair and sat down in the one across from the woman. He noted that the kid slid into his chair, facing Lance and talking.

He looked at the woman. "Yes?"

She looked to make sure the kid wasn't listening. He wasn't, he was talking in an animated fashion to Lance. "That's my son, Ty," she said.

"He's talking to my brother, Lance," Roman said. "And I'm Roman."

"I'm Ginny," the woman said. "And… I don't want Ty to hear me say this, but will you please thank Lance for me?"

"For what?"

Ginny's eyes were still shining. "My sister is coming for Christmas. She has breast cancer. Ty knows she's sick, but he didn't quite get it. And.. she's bald Two chemo sessions and she's bald.. My sister had beautiful hair, long and silky and when Ty was younger, he would play with it for hours. I-I had no idea how we were going to explain it to him that her sickness caused her to go bald. But your brother…" she paused, wiping her eyes with a napkin. "Your brother just made it sound like a _good_ thing. I think it will be a lot easier for Ty to handle if he thinks that her being bald means she has more energy to fight cancer."

"I'll let him know," Roman said, keeping his voice low. "You do know he told a pretty twisted version of chemo right? That it really doesn't work that way?"

Ginny nodded. "I know that. _You_ know that, and I bet _Lance_ knows that. But for now, Ty doesn't need to know that. Let him think the bald is a good thing, let him believe it's helping her get better."

Roman nodded. "I will."

Ginny looked away from Roman, over to Lance, and then back at Roman. "You shaved your head for him, didn't you?" When Roman nodded, she continued, "it's obvious, you love him very much. Is-is he going to be okay?"

_Should I be honest? We have no clue but it doesn't look good?_ "Yes," he said instead. "It's going to take a little more time, but he'll be fine. He's beating this."

"I'm so glad." She looked towards her son, "Ty, we have to get going."

"Mom!" Ty turned on his chair and stared at his mother. "I'm telling him about all my cars!"

"It's okay," Lance said, looking into the distance, "Our mom is heading over too, so, we have to go, too." Roman looked up and saw their mother was heading over, the shopping cart now filled to overflowing with reusable bags filled with groceries. "Your matchbox cars sound really cool, Ty."

"Thanks," Ty said. "I-I hope they can take you off your medicine soon, so you can grow hair again."

"Thanks," Lance said. "Me too."

.

By the time they got home, Lance was looking worn out. "Would it be okay if I went upstairs and read?" he asked, which Roman knew was code for, "I need a nap." If Lance wanted to read, he read, he never asked permission.

Jen looked at him. "That sounds like a good idea."

"I'll go with you," Roman said, another indication that "reading" was a code word for "napping." No one had to go with Lance to read. He looked at his mother, "You can handle putting the groceries away, right?"

"Yes," she said. "Good job getting out of that chore."

Roman smiled. "Tell you what, put aside the camp stuff and when I come down, I'll take it where it belongs. Is that fair?"

"Deal," Jen said.

.

"What pajamas do you want?" Roman asked Lance as he looked through his drawers. The kid had about sixty pairs.

"I want the ones Marc gave me for my birthday," Lance said, as he pulled his T-shirt off. "Mom washed them the other day, I saw."

Roman wasn't surprised, and found the PJ's Lance spoke of, his favorite ones. They were made of black silk, and had one of the T-shirt designs from their dad's old tag team, Samoan Pride on the back. Roman had no idea how Marc had been able to get them made, he just remembered how happy Lance was when he opened them.

"You were really good with Ty today," Roman remarked as he helped Lance get the top on. The whole experience had taken so much out of his brother and he knew it, so he automatically moved around and started buttoning the buttons. Lance normally might have protested this, but instead his arms hung at his sides, offering no resistance. He let Lance unbutton and unzip his jeans, but helped him pull them down.

"Rome… sometimes…" Lance began, as Roman was helping him into the pants.

"Sometimes, what?" Roman asked. Pajamas on, he scooped his brother up wincing at how little he weighed for his age, but he put him on the bed, making it seem like a game, not something to help his brother hold on to a little energy.

"Sometimes I wish I wasn't smart," Lance said.

Roman had been pulling the covers up around him, but he stopped. Lance wishing he wasn't _smart?_ Roman saw that as if he wished he couldn't play football, something impossible. "Why?" He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I _lied_ to Ty," Lance said. "We know the truth. Chemo kills all new cells. We just hope it kills new cancer cells and keeps them dead. But it doesn't take energy, it just kills. Chemo is _poison_, Rome. And I made it sound great to Ty."

"Did Ty tell you he has an aunt with breast cancer?" Roman asked.

Lance shook his head. "But I had a feeling he knew someone with cancer. And that he was just confused, because medicine makes you better, not sicker. And… I just thought as he was listening and believing, that I wish I could believe that, too."

"I can see that," Roman said. He rose from the bed and went over to the lounge chair that had been brought into the room, the chair sometimes his mother or father slept in to make sure he was all right. Lying on the chair was a very cuddly, very floppy stuffed dog that Roman had bought him for his birthday the same year he was diagnosed. Lance didn't like to admit it, but when he was feeling overwhelmed, he liked sleeping with "Dog" as he called it. Roman brought Dog over and handed it to Lance. Lance didn't protest, he just hugged it. "But you know, Ty is a kid, he's not as smart as you are. Heck, I'm a teenager and I'm not as smart as you are. And you could have been your usual sarcastic self, but you weren't. You gave him an answer that will make him feel more comfortable with his aunt. His mother told me to thank you for that, by the way.

Lance laughed, which ended in a cough, "I guess I was pretty good."

Roman made a mental note to grab the pitcher by the bed and fill it with ice water and bring it up in case Lance needed it. "I knew you had it in you."

Lance stared at him for the longest time. "Roman," he finally said. "I don't _want_ to die."

"I know," Roman said, and was about to assure him he wouldn't, but Lance interrupted him.

"But just because I don't _want_ to die, doesn't mean I _won't_ die." He looked so tired, but determined to finish his thought. "I've told you, this is a journey I'm taking. And every so often there is a split where one path leads to death, the other to life. I can't fix myself, but I will do whatever is possible to take the path to life and that's all I can promise you." His eyes closed and his breathing turned into that shallow breath that showed he was asleep.

Fighting the tears in his eyes, Roman leaned over and kissed the top of his brother's forehead. "Keep choosing life, little brother," he said, even though Lance couldn't hear it. "And on behalf of Ty and his mother, thank you for helping one little boy stay a kid a little bit longer." He rose from the bed as carefully as he could, took the pitcher by the bed and started out of the room.

"Just don't think I've gone soft," Lance suddenly called out, showing he'd been faking that he'd fallen asleep so fast. "The next kid who asks me about being bald might not be so lucky."

"I know," Roman said as he turned out the light. "It's a Christmas Miracle."

The End.

Author's Notes: This is based on a true story.

This is also my Christmas miracle. This story is under 5k words. Even with the author notes.

I know it isn't much of a cheerful Christmas story, but it was a pretty special moments for me.


End file.
